


Long-Forgotten Gold

by dimsumbao



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, Hurt, Loss, M/M, Memory Loss, Other, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:31:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimsumbao/pseuds/dimsumbao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin survives the Battle of the Five Armies relatively unscathed, but just how bitter-sweet is the victory? Where are his newphews and his hobbit?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. His Kin

**Author's Note:**

> Originally meant to be a oneshot but now coming to you in two parts because I suck

### Part 1: His Kin

Some say that when you lose someone you love, you can feel it. Even if they're miles apart, you'll be able to know.

Thorin felt nothing through the adrenaline of battle. The only thing that he was aware of was the warmth of the Orc and Warg blood mixing together down his arms and against his face. The king saw the eagles come and watched Beorn scatter their enemies away from his mountain.

This was what a victory must have felt like. An actual victory, where he could reap its benefits with his dwarves and kin. He would be able to live out his reign, crown his nephews, and the line of Durin would run strong once more. There would be feasts and songs of their accomplishments that day, he was sure of it.

But the king should have known better than to be so cocky, so self-sure.

When Thorin regrouped with his company, he noticed that they were missing something. Actually quite a great deal of somethings. The king cried out for his nephews and bugler. What in Aulë's name were those idiots doing at a time like this?

Surely Kili had run off to see the extent of their victory, to merely gloat at the numbers they had slain. And Fili was accompanying him, making sure that his brother was safe. Hah, probably to gloat with him! Boys would be boys after all, even if that meant they would be idiots for a good deal longer. He sent Dwalin and Balin to go fetch them before they fell on a Warg's tooth and impaled themselves.

Now for that blasted Hobbit. That stupid, selfish, absolutely idiotic Hobbit that did nothing but cause him stress. If the Hobbit was successful in anything it would be giving him a stroke before he was 200, that son of an elf. He wasn't fit to be his burglar, let alone his husband. The nerve of that Baggins! He sent Bofur to go look for the Hobbit who's only successful steal was his heart.

The sun had already pasted the middle of the sky by the time one of the search parties returned. By then the elves and men had returned to Lake Town to celebrate the victory further. None of the dwarves had moved from their camp.

Balin was the first to return. He approached his king with a sullen gaze, one that begged not to be broken. Thorin rose just in time to catch the older dwarf who had crumpled against his leader. He whispered quickly, quietly, as if to hope that if no one heard him, his news would not be true.

What a fool he had been to think that this victory would come without payment.

He pushed Balin aside as gently as a distressed parent could and took off to the west. He chased the sun that was now just behind Dwalin's broad silhouette. The bald head was bowed, unmoving. Just beyond him there was a white cloth -- no flag -- covering the tops of two bodies.

He knew that bracer for he had made it himself as a present for his youngest kin.

He knew that pattern on those pants and the fur on those sleeves for they marked his first heir.

Thorin did the only thing he knew he could do: he yowled. He yelled to the heavens as he dropped to his knees. He cursed at the sun for setting on his kin. He cried out at every last survivor, damning them for living when his nephews had not. He slammed his fists into the ground, willing for it to open up and swallow them all whole so that they may be born again in a time when war would not take those dear to him.

He continued to yell and scream and beat the earth until he felt drained of every last ounce of energy. Dwalin moved forward then and put a thick hand onto his king's shoulder. Thorin continued to kneel, dragging in deep, ragged breaths. Balin came to them, suggesting that they moved the bodies before dark so as to prepare them for a proper burial. Thorin rose and gave the two bodies a last look. He saw his two children, too young for battle, much too young for death, laying under the cloth. It reminded him of the countless times he tucked them in when they lived together.

Good night, Fili.

Good night, Kili.


	2. Part 2: His Hobbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The question of his newphews has been answered, but there's still a missing Hobbit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second part of the would-be-oneshot, hopefully with slightly more angst and slightly less suck

Night had fallen by the time Thorin returned to the dwarven camp. How eerily normal everything seemed. The fire had been started and his company was seated around it. The dwarves were turned to each other while Gandalf leaned against a sizable boulder, puffing his pipe. There was a low rumble of voices, but not a single laugh dared to break the monotony. When they noticed their king's return, silence overtook their words. One of them stood, his back facing a well bundled something on the ground.

"Thorin," Bofur started in his usual calm manner. He had his pipe in hand, the warm scent of tobacco followed his breath. "Bilbo's fine. I found him at the foot of the mountain, near the old Elvish camp site. He was lying there, but he was breathing, so no need to worry about that!"

Once assured of Bilbo's well-being, Thorin let out a heavy breath; one he was sure he had been holding since seeing Dwalin.

"He must've hit his head, what with all the blood."

. . . Blood?

Bofur shirked Thorin's gaze which was sure to stop his blood cold. The king pushed past the whittler and knelt over his hobbit. The last of their bandages were wrapped around Bilbo's head. A very distinct patch of blood had begun to seep through the cloths. Gently, Thorin ran thumb across the hobbit's cheek, tracing down his jawline to his chin. So smooth, even without shaving. Almost unnatural. Bilbo's lips were parted ever so slightly, letting out rhythmic but shallow breaths. Thank Aulë that this treasure was spared by fate.

"Has he woken up yet?" Thorin dare not look from the hobbit. Perhaps he was afraid that when he turned back he would see a white sheet covering Bilbo as well.

As if on cue, the hobbit opened his eyes, squinting up at Thorin. He made quiet groans of discomfort as he tried to sit up. Thorin placed a firm palm on Bilbo's chest, pinning him to the rocky ground. In a few short moments the other dwarves had gotten up and began crowding around their burglar-hobbit. They called out his name and asked variations of "is he alive?".

Suddenly Bilbo's eyes were wide-open and he couldn't seem to focus on any of the dwarves' faces. He began to struggle from his snuggly wrapped blankets, trying to release his arms. The lips Thorin had been admiring but moments are were now stretched apart, letting out terrified cries.

At this all the dwarves immediately scrambled back, both startled and frightened. Thorin, however, remained and tried to control Bilbo. He moved his arms to Bilbo's and tried to pin him down again, somehow hoping that it would calm him down. What had gotten into this hobbit?

"Master Thorin, if you intend on breaking your hobbit then you are doing a fine job," Gandalf had been on his feet for some time, watching the events unfold before him. His pipe was stowed away his staff was in its place. "However if you plan on seeing what's wrong I suggest you step back immediately!"

Thorin looked at the wizard with what Gandalf could have sworn was one of the most helpless looks he had seen in all his years. Slowly he released the hobbit only to be kicked backwards by a foot that had gotten loose.

"Bilbo!" Gandalf swept his staff over the hobbit, taking the blanket with it. The hobbit pushed himself up onto his rear and began to scurried backwards using his hands and feet.

"Stay back! I-I-I don't know what you want from me, but I have nothing of value! Not on me or in my house!" The poor hobbit had his back pressed against the side of the mountain. He looked no more than a trapped mouse, trembling and ready to die.

"Bilbo! It is us," Gandalf tried to approach the scared man who's only response was to throw a very tiny stone at him. The wizard heard a wave of confused chatter from behind him. He sympathized with them, though now it was quite apparent what had happened. If he felt more sorry for anyone other than Bilbo and himself, it would be…

"Bilbo!" Throin walked past the wizard and only made it a couple of feet further before he was pelted with a pebble. "What is the matter with you, hobbit?"

"What is that matter with-with me?" Bilbo sounded as incredulous as could be. "I don't think you lot have any right to be asking me that! After taking me from my home to-to… to wherever this bloody place is!"

Thorin stopped his advances which seemed to barely calm Bilbo down. He knew very well where they were, as should his hobbit! They journeyed for months to get here, fought with life and limb to get to Erebor. Something was wrong, missing, and everything failed to click for the poor king.

"Master Baggins," Thorin's voice lowered considerably. It sounded much softer, if not tired. "Do not play such games with me today. Surely you'd rather be celebrating."

"Celebrating over what, might I ask?" The hobbit made it to his feet, now, but still had his back against the wall. "Being kidnapped?"

Thorin took a step back as if Bilbo's words had dealt a physical blow. They… they had won the battle, had they not? They had reclaimed their home, the one that Bilbo swore to help them reclaim. Surely this was meant to be celebrated.

"You signed a contract, Bilbo," Thorin reminded his hobbit with equal gentleness. "Do you not remember the night you invited us into your home?"

"Invited? Invited he says!" Bilbo looked around him, as if this were some joke. "Look here, I did not invite any of you into my house!"

There was some truth in those words, more than he had heard all night from Bilbo. It gave him a tiny glimmer of hope that this whole ruse would soon be over. He even felt himself smile a little.

"Very well, Bilbo, we may have invaded the privacy of your hobbit hole," The king felt a very unwarranted relief come over him. "But we can talk by the fire."

Thorin reached out a hand to his hobbit, waiting for him to take it with that tiny, but firm grip. He waited for Bilbo to run into his arms, bury his face into the furs of his jacket, and reveal that he had just been confused. War, after all, was no place for a hobbit. He would make sure that his hobbit would never have to face anything of that caliber again.

"Thorin, no," but even Gandalf couldn't have protected Thorin for what Bilbo was about to say, or rather do.

"Actually, we can't. No. Wait," Bilbo glared at Thorin with such malice that it shook him out of his delusions. "Why don't _we_ back up for a moment and start with: who the hell are you?"

That day Thorin may have reclaimed his long-forgotten gold, but he would never be able to reclaim the three lives he lost: Fili's, Kili's, and the one he would have shared with his beloved hobbit.


End file.
